It seems that practicing the saxophone now poses a threat to homeland security.
Surprised? Not nearly as surprised as I was when I first found out last night.
I surely wasn’t aware of the risk I presented when I parked my car near the railroad tracks at the end of Kraft Avenue, a stone’s throw from the hurricane fence that circumscribes the perimeter of the Gerald R. Ford International Airport. I’ll grant you, it’s an unusual location for a person to hang out at, but it’s by no means anything new for me. I’ve been parking there with varying frequency for roughly 25 years, practicing my saxophone and watching the trains go by.
Of course I’ve been checked out numerous times by the police. I haven’t minded at all; rather, I’ve appreciated that the cops have been on their toes and diligent in doing their jobs. The officers, in turn, have invariably been courteous and usually friendly, and often enough I’ve enjoyed some pleasant conversations with them. Once they determined that I was eccentric but harmless, they always drove off and left me to practice my horn in peace. Over time, a number of them came to recognize me. (Cop, peering in at me: “Oh, it’s you. Enjoy your evening!” Heads back to car and drives away.)
I’ve never had any problems at that location. Not ever. Until last night, that is, when suddenly and inexplicably everything changed.
What I’m about to share is not a rant. I’m not angry, just sad. Maybe once I gain a better understanding of whatever federal laws and/or local ordinances I’m dealing with, I will feel angry at having been jerked around. Or maybe I’ll just have a better understanding of what happened. Right now, though, I have the sense that the policeman I encountered last night was simply doing what he believed was the right thing. He didn’t project a nasty, belligerent, or power-drunk attitude; he was simply adamant that I had to leave my practice spot by the railroad tracks and not practice there in the future.
Just like that. It’s kind of like being told that the old fishing hole where you’ve fished for a quarter of a century is suddenly off limits. You’re given a reason, but it doesn’t ring true, and you get the sense that something you value has been taken from you without your ever having a voice in the matter.
Why all of a sudden? If homeland security was really the issue, which is what I was told, then why did none of the scores of other police officers I’ve encountered in that location over the long years ever mention it to me? Even in the tense months following 9/11, no cop ever requested that I relocate due to security concerns. Not that security–albeit not homeland security that I’m aware–hasn’t always been an issue in that spot. Some of the cops told me that vandalism had sometimes been a problem, and on a couple of occasions I was able to answer questions by the police concerning other visitors at the site. I’d like to think that my presence there has proved, if anything, helpful at times rather than a liability.
So here’s what happened: I was hashing out the Charlie Parker solo to “Dewey Square” yesterday evening when a police car pulled up behind me and the spotlight appeared in my mirror. No sweat; as I’ve mentioned, I’m used to having law enforcement check me out. I set down my horn in the passenger seat, handed the officer my driver’s license upon his request, and then waited while he ran a background check on me. He returned to my vehicle in a couple of minutes and handed me back my license, and at that point I figured things were clear and I could get back to my practicing.
Not so. The cop informed me that I was trespassing (perhaps because I had pulled off the road closer to the tracks, where I could see the semaphore lights, but that had never been an issue before); that I was parked in a high-risk zone less than 100 feet from airport property; and that in order to avoid compromising homeland security, he needed me to move.
Say what?
I reiterated to the officer–I had already mentioned it to him when he first appeared at my window–that I had a long and trouble-free history of practicing at this site; that I was here because the place was convenient and I enjoyed watching the trains go by; that I had been checked out countless times by the police over the years and never experienced any problem; that some of the cops had become familiar with my unusual but harmless habit; that never once had any of them asked me to move; and that this was the first time anyone had ever mentioned the issue of homeland security.
The officer in turn suggested that I relocate to the airport viewing area on the far side of the airport, where I could watch the planes. I appreciated that he was trying to offer what to him seemed like a reasonable solution, but I repeated that I liked to watch the trains. Again he raised the security issue.
“Look,” I said, “I’m not out to argue with you. I’ll leave if you insist. But I’m trying to wrap my mind around what you’re telling me, because for as many years as I’ve been coming here, and as many times as the police have checked me out, this is the first time I’ve ever been told me to leave.”
The officer said he was sorry, but that I would have to find another place to practice. Henceforth I would have to consider this location off limits.
Wow. After 25 years, suddenly out of the clear blue somebody sticks a “No Fishing” sign right in front of my nose at the old fishing hole.
Very well; I had made my case, and it’s my policy not to argue with law enforcement officers. They are, after all, the embodiment of the law, and even when I don’t agree with them, I will comply with them. As I’ve already said, this cop didn’t come across as nasty, just inflexible, and I don’t know what realities he was dealing with. Perhaps a recent change in local ordinances, or even federal law, required him to deal with me differently than what I had experienced in the past.
Then again, maybe nothing at all had changed and the guy was just being a jerk. I don’t know–right now. But I will make a point of finding out. If I need to secure some form of permissions from CSX or the airport, I’ll pursue that avenue. I hate to have a convenient and enjoyable practice place that I’ve resorted to for so many years get suddenly and seemingly arbitrarily yanked out from under me.
Even more, though, I hate the erosion of freedom that such an event reflects.
